From: jlasman@aol.com (JLasman)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.enemas
Subject: High School Swim Team enemas
Date: 27 Nov 1994 23:15:22 -0500
Organization: America Online, Inc. (1-800-827-6364)
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WARNING:
THE FOLLOWING IS AN ADULT RECOLLECTION OF A CHILDHOOD
EXPERIENCE WHICH OCCURRED ABOUT 35 YEARS AGO. IF READING
OF CHILDHOOD EXPERIENCES UPSET YOU PLEASE DO NOT READ FURTHER.
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The following is true, pretty much as I remember it. If you've seen it
before, it's because I've sent it out to various people in exchange for
getting their own childhood stories. One or more of the people I've sent
it to may have sent it on; I encourage distribution of my recollections.
My hope is that upon reading this you'll be tempted to write of your own
childhood experiences.
If you wish to correspond with me please Email me at:
"AEXU81A@PRODIGY.COM" (without the quotes); I use an email system that
works best with Prodigy Email. I currently have a direct Internet
connection, but I've not yet put all the software in place to use it; at
some time in the future I expect to put up a home page on enemas!
If you have any unresolved issues or questions which result from your
getting enemas as a child, I may be able to help you. I am a professional
Pediatric Colonic Therapist and I've extensively studied elimination
disturbances (real and imaginary, congenital and acquired) in children and
counseled children with such disorders.
**********************************************************
Swim Team Story follows!
It was a hot Friday afternoon at Norville High in suburban Miami. The
second weekend in April, and a Swim meet coming up that very afternoon! It
was 2:15 and fifth period had just let out. I was a Junior and my sixth
period class was Journalism. I was sports editor for the high school
paper, so instead of heading for the 2nd floor classroom, I headed down
the west staircase and out the southwest exit for the gym.
I'd hoped I could get some good pictures of the swim team guys working
out, getting ready for the meet, which was held at the olympic-size pool
just west of the school complex.
I got to the boys dressing room just as the guys on the team started to
dress out for exercises. Off came the jeans and jockeys, bearing some of
the smoothest and best-muscled butts in South Florida! Bill's was as white
as new snow, but with the beginning of dirty-blonde peach-fuzz obvious on
closer inspection. Barry's was smooth and almost as white as the
porcelain-enameled sink he leaned over as he looked into the mirror at his
newly cut hair. And as little hair as the buzz-cut left him with on the
top of his head, I just knew there was more there than anywhere else on
his still-young body!
But where were my best friend Tommy and my personal favorite, Felix? I
wondered to myself, musing on the fact that as little hair as Barry had
down there, Tommy had even less. Felix was the more developed of the two,
both muscles and well-developed boy-organ, and already showed signs of the
hairy Italian he would soon grow up to be. Where were they?
I didn't have time to find out, as I had to check with Coach and find out
whether the boys would practice at the pool (almost a block away) or on
the field back of the gym. I made a sharp left turn, ran past what I knew
to be a one-way mirror well placed so the coaches could see the goings-on
in the dressing room without any of the boys seeing them, and ignoring (as
I always did) the notice stenciled on the office door ("Do Not Enter Until
Called" it read), I burst into the coaches' office.
I couldn't believe my eyes!
There they were! Felix was sitting, stiff as a board, eyes staring sharply
to his left, in the head-coaches desk chair. To my right, his left, right
where he was staring, was the imitation-leather bench where I had often
seen the coaches lie down for a few moments between classes, when the
stresses of the day had gotten to their no-longer-teenage muscles, and
they needed a moment of relaxation. Where I had seen some of the less
athletic boys brought after collapse or near-collapse on the exercise
field, to lie for a ten-minute break with a cool towel across their
forehead.
But this time, lying on that very bench, was my best friend, Tommy!
He lay almost on his stomach, but turned slightly on his right side, head
facing the wall, with no indication that he paid attention to any of us.
He was wearing ... absolutely nothing!
And leading out from between his soft young boy-cheeks was an dark red
rubber tube, connected to an amber rubber hose leading over and down, and
then curving up one, two, three, four, five feet off the floor to what I
always thought was a hook for the coaches to hang their sweats while
changing into their street clothes.
But it obviously wasn't! For hanging from that no-longer innocent hook was
as big an enema bag as I'd ever seen! The bag was bright red, and to this
day, I'd swear it held a gallon!
It was still a little over half full, but from the determined look on
Coach's face, you could see he wasn't about ready to call it quits.
"Hey Coach, can't you stop yet? This hurts!" pleaded Tommy, the first I
heard from him since I'd entered.
"Not yet, Tommy," answered Coach. "I told you yesterday you couldn't swim
if you were still constipated. You should have asked your mother to give
you a laxative like I told you."
"C'mon Coach, I forgot! This is Murder! You're killing me!" wailed Tommy,
discomfort obvious in his voice.
"Not killing you, only cleaning you," said Coach, is voice firm, with
every expectation that Tommy would lie there and take it to the end.
A good half-minute passed, with Tommy moaning, and Coach sitting there on
the end of the bench, his hand around Tommy's young body massaging his
bloated belly. Then coach looked up as if he had just seen me.
"Oh, hi, Jeff," he said grinning. "I hope you're not getting any good
pictures. They'd be too hot to print, you know." Honestly, I was so
incredibly startled and excited by the scene, my own body throbbing in
sympathy with Tommy's, that I hadn't even thought of the photographic
possibilities!
"Hi...ii, C.C.Coach," I stammered.
"Just relax Jeff," Coach continued. "We're all friends here. When I
brought Felix and Tommy in for their enemas they were a lot more cocky
than they are now. They even told me they weren't afraid because they knew
you took enemas yourself, and if you could take 'em, so could they."
It was true, I did take enemas, and though I knew that they knew, I never
thought they'd tell Coach. And I never knew that Coach would give them
enemas right here in school, either! I was learning something new here
almost every minute! In fact, more than once I had dreamt of having Tommy
or Felix on the floor in my bathroom at home, pumping hot soapy water up
their young bottoms!
And here it was happening. Tommy was about to be finished, I could tell.
The bag was less than half full; in fact it probably had only about a
quart left in it. Coach had clamped the amber tube, and turned Tommy over
onto his back. His lack of development was readily apparent. His cock,
hard from internal stimulation, was not even 4" long, his balls, not half
the size of mine, hugged closely to his body, and if you were looking for
hair, you'd still have to wait a while! Tommy was easily the least
developed swimmer on the team, and I thought, the least developed boy in
school!
Coach rubbed deeply into Tommy's belly, beginning at the lower left,
pushing up to his ribcage, across to the right side, and down almost to
his cock, where he started all over again. After about ten circles around
Tommy's distended belly, and with Tommy moaning all the while, he rolled
the teen over to his right side and started to slowly remove the dark red
colon tube.
Coach pulled and pulled, and I couldn't believe how deep the tube had gone
into the young teen just a few feet from me on the bench. Finally it was
out, and hit hung from Coach's hand, almost half an inch thick and two
feet long from the place I had seen it enter Tommy's rectal opening. It
glistened with water, grease and wet shit, and Coach dropped it into a
basin waiting for it on the floor.
Then he pulled the young teen to his feet. "I feel sick, Coach,"
complained Tommy. as Coach half carried, half led him, to the small
bathroom in the corner. Coach told him to stay on the toilet and let out
the water as it came, but not to close the door. Tommy moaned in
compliance, and groaned yet again as he pressed his hands against his
young belly.
"Your turn, Felix!" said Coach, and the boy I thought easily the best
looking at Norville stood up and walked over to the bench.
"Strip down and lie on the bench, Felix," said coach. He turned back to
the bathroom, where I could smell as well as see that Tommy was slowly
squeezing more of the soapy and shitty liquid from his tortured body.
"I'll be back as soon as I've refilled the bag and gotten a clean colon
tube for you."
"What's going on, Felix?" I managed to stammer.
Felix sounded quieter and more subdued than I'd ever heard him in the four
years we'd known each other... "Well, Jeff," he said, "Yesterday Coach
asked us we were ready for the meet. You know how he does it, going around
the circle, asking us questions at random." I knew. Coach would walk
around just outside the boys' circle. He'd pick one at random, "You Joe,
how've you been sleeping lately?" A small-voiced answer. "You, Billy,
Eating Well?"
"Anyway," Felix continued, "When he got to Tommy, the question was 'When
was the last time you took a shit?' "
" 'I never took any, Coach,' answered Tommy," said Felix, "which made
coach a little angry. 'You know what I mean!' " he bellowed!"
" 'I, I think I'm constipated, Coach,' Tommy finally managed to tell him,"
said Felix.
"Coach yelled, 'You don't think you're constipated, Tommy! You're either
constipated or you're not!' "
" 'I guess I am, Coach,' said Tommy. Boy, Coach got pissed. 'You ARE
constipated, aren't you?!?' he yelled! Tommy's 'yes' was small and lost in
the general yelling as Coach went around the room. 'How about you, Billy?
You, Joe, You, Barry?' When he got to me, I just couldn't lie. 'I'm
constipated, too, Coach,' I said, and that's how come we're both here this
afternoon," Felix finished.
Coach returned to the room, the four-quart bag bulging with hot soapsoads
in one hand, and a glistening greased colon tube coiled in the other.
"What about you, Jeff? You want one, too?" he laughed.
"No, sir," I said meekly, and turned and almost ran out of the room.
...
And although this episode ends, the story doesn't. As I admitted earlier,
I DID take enemas myself, and sometimes had to have one given to me by my
mom. Since I didn't really like that at all, and would much rather get
them from a man, I decided to have a talk with Coach at my earliest
opportunity. That opportunity presented itself on the very next schoolday,
the following Monday, when I discovered that Felix and Tommy weren't the
only kids enemaed by Coach at Norville High!